Anything but risk seeing her flinch when he proposed a true marriage.
“Four, well-blooded warriors came with me,” he said, hoping only he heard the slight thickness in his voice. “We bring you full use of our sword arms and our steadfast protection.”
He stopped before her then, clenching his hands against the unsettling notion he was about to make himself look a fool. “And I, Lady Caterine,” he rushed on before his nerve fled, “I would offer myself to you. Not as a pretend husband, but a true one.”
She gasped. A tiny, breathy sound, barely audible above the wind. Not that she needed words. Her rigid stance, her wide-eyed stare and slipped jaw, all screamed her displeasure louder than any winter gale that could race in from the sea.
“No.” The terse rejection ripped a deep chasm between the man he’d once been and his dreams of ever being that old self again.
“And why not?” the sons of Beelzebub made him ask.
To his astonishment, a tiny smile curved her lips. “Not for the reason you suspect, I assure you.” She lifted her hand to his face, tracing his scar with a touch light as air.
Marmaduke stiffened. No woman had ever touched his scars. Not the slashing one that marred his once-handsome face, nor the countless welts criss-crossing his back.
No woman until now and the gentleness of that one fair touch near melted his heart.
She withdrew her hand, a look of confusion on her face as if she, too, had felt something. But the look passed so quickly it may never have been there at all.
“Your scar does not bother me,” she said, her bluntness taking him off guard. “I find your looks arresting,” she added, surprising him even more.
“It is just…” She paused, pushed her windswept hair back from her face. “My situation has changed since Rhona took it upon herself to plead my sister’s aid. It is indeed a true husband I now require, not simply a man willing to play the role,” she said, her pronouncement sending hope thundering through him.
“But I cannot accept you as that man.” The plain-spoken words dashed his newly-revived spirits as thoroughly as if she’d plunged him over the curtain wall and into the sea.
“Still, I want to make clear that my feelings have nothing to do with your face.” She smoothed a fingertip along his scar once more, the gentle touch torturing him this time. “Nor is it anything you have said or done, not you personally. ’Tis your English blood alone. That, sir, is a taint I cannot overcome. My sister should have known better.”
For the first time in Marmaduke’s life, words failed him. Her frank avowal crashed through him, mocking him and taking sides with his demons.
And, bold as they were, they stole his ability to do aught but stare at her.
“Lest I lose my courage,” she plunged ahead, clearly unaware of his anguish, “I would beg one favor of you.”
“Name your desire and it shall be done.” The chivalrous words came of their own volition, spoken as if from a stranger, though the voice was undeniably his.
“Thank you.” She peered at him, an earnest look in her deep blue eyes. “As my sister surely told you, Sir Hugh de la Hogue, who has been plaguing me for months, has vowed he will soon take me, and this holding, by force.”
“de la Hogue?” Marmaduke’s gut clenched at the mention of the abased churl’s name.
“You know him?” The question etched worry lines onto her face.
“I have met him, yes,” Marmaduke admitted, the pulsing knot at his throat sending coils of heat into his shoulders and up his neck. “In the early years of my knighthood – at the English court. A more debauched dastard never walked this earth, may the devil roast his hide.”
“He is the reason I must ask your help. Not so much for myself, but to protect James, my stepson,” she said, mentioning the young man Marmaduke had heard of but not yet seen.
The heir to Dunlaidir.
Marmaduke’s blood iced. “What does de la Hogue want of the lad? Has he harassed him?”
“Not yet, but that means nothing.” Lady Caterine twisted her hands. “Should Sir Hugh make good his threats, he would have done with James before the nuptial vows passed my lips. With James dead, his two-thirds of Dunlaidir revert to me. Better said, to Sir Hugh if I am forced to wed him.”
And the black-hearted whoreson would have your life as quickly.Marmaduke kept his suspicions to himself, but from the look on Lady Caterine’s face, she knew this danger without him giving voice to it.
“You needn’t fear the earl, my lady.” Marmaduke held her gaze, his own cares, his disappointments, forgotten. “He will regret the day he drew his first breath if he dare so much as look at you. On that, I give you my solemn oath.”
Averting her gaze, she stared into the darkness, the strong sea wind pressing his cloak against her legs. “Thank you again,” she said, her pride doing visible battle with her need of him. “You are a good and valiant man.”
Marmaduke nodded. “I came here to help you,” he said, struggling with his own battered pride. “But if it is a husband you seek and you will not wed me, then what is it you would have me do?”
